


The Damsel in Distress

by caliowl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Bullying, Little babies in crush with each other, M/M, Original Character(s), Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/pseuds/caliowl
Summary: Ford gets bullied by Crampelter and his gang during gym, and gets called a damsel in distress by pretty much everyone. Luckily for him, he's got a loyal knight by his side.
Relationships: Stanford Pines/Stanley Pines
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	The Damsel in Distress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nekoaimy on Tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nekoaimy+on+Tumblr).



> This fic was written for the amazingly lovely nekoaimy on Tumblr who drew my request for forehead kissing Stans <3 Which can be found here --> https://nekoaimy.tumblr.com/post/623024175169306624/requested-by-wannabeagrunklefan  
> They requested a Stancest fic with some sweet hand kisses. I hope you don't mind me adding in some more kisses! Thank you for the prompt! It was fun for me to flex my writing muscles again :D  
> Also, a really, great big THANK YOU to my friend and beta yehvaru for all your hard work and for looking over my fic on such short notice. You are a sparkling gem!

It was a gorgeous day in Glass Shard, the kind kids long for on a lazy weekend and the kind Stanford Pines finds optimal for Jersey Devil hunting. However, instead of being out on the beach combing for hoofprints in the sand, Ford was stuck in gym class and forced to participate in a relay race.

While not the slowest kid in class, Ford certainly wasn’t the fastest, and he wasn’t looking forward to the response from his peers when the race was over. Why, oh why had the teacher placed him last? Not to mention, being placed next to Crampelter in the racing lanes was making him apprehensive.

He steals a glance over at the boy on his right and balks when he discovers the bully already watching him. Crampelter grins maliciously and raises a hand to his neck, miming slitting his throat with an unattractive, phlegm-y sound. ‘You’re dead,’ he mouths to Ford, his leer turning into an insincere smile as the gym teacher turns around.

“Alright kids, you’re up next! Get ready!” Their gym teacher bellows, putting his whistle to his lips.

“Watch your step, Pines,” Crampelter mutters. Ford gulps.

Then the whistle blows, and they’re off.

At first, Ford watches Crampelter as he runs. He has his hand behind his back, ready to receive the baton, but he keeps his eyes firmly on the bully running alongside him. Crampelter’s eyes slide over to Ford and he grins nastily before he begins to fall behind. Ford looks back, confused at the sudden change in speed, and catches his teammate huffing and puffing behind him, baton held out desperately.

“C’mon, Pines! Take the damn baton already!”

Ford can feel his face heat as he slows down a bit himself and takes the baton. “Sorry!” He whips his head around to face front so he can really get the lead out-

And trips. Ford is first confused as he watches the ground rise up to meet him. Then when he fully comprehends his situation, Ford stretches both arms out instinctively and feels the hot, searing pain as his palms and forearms slide across uneven pavement.

When he comes to a stop, Ford looks up just in time to see a large sneaker come down on his right hand. Hard. He cries out and tries to pull his injured hand away, but the sneaker grinds down, crushing his fingers into the pebbles and dirt.

From far away, he hears the whistle blow and his teacher says something that Ford can’t make out through the pain. But the sneaker removes itself, and when he looks up Ford can see Crampelter’s sneer through his tears.

“Told you to watch yourself, freak. What? Are your ears messed up too?” He laughs cruelly and shares a low high-five with one of his patsies that had been running on Ford’s other side.

“Alright boys, that’s enough! Davis, Crampelter, I saw that! You’re on the bench for the rest of class!” The patsy and Crampelter groan and start to complain, but the teacher cuts them off. “Don’t back-sass  _ me _ , boys! Next time don’t trip your fellow classmates and I won’t have to bench you.” Davis and Crampelter walk off toward the bench while the gym teacher kneels down next to Ford. “Let me see your hands.”

Ford gulps through his tears and tentatively offers his wounded hands up for inspection. His teacher curls his upper lip slightly, but otherwise shows no emotion over them. “Go see the nurse,” he sighs. “I’ll excuse you from the rest of class today, but be ready to participate tomorrow.”

Ford nods and pulls his hands back behind his back, feeling the acute sting of gravel left in his wounds. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Holy Moses! What happened to your hands?”

Ford sees his twin brother’s concerned face and sighs. He’d hoped to sweep the incident under the metaphorical rug, but Stanley always seemed to pick up on these things immediately. If only his teachers could see him now, they wouldn’t dare call Stanley “lazy” or “inattentive”.

“I had an accident while running a relay today,” Ford tells him as Stan readjusts his backpack to lean in to get a closer look at the bandaged hands in question. “Tripped.”

Stanley’s gaze shoots up to lock with Ford’s immediately, and he narrows his eyes speculatively. “‘Tripped’?” He asks skeptically, and Ford was once again struck with surprise at the keenness of Stanley’s intellect when it came to something he was interested in. A sharpness that rarely showed up during school hours and was mostly reserved for personal interests.

Stanford clears his throat. “Yes. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I tripped during the race.” A succinct description of events that is entirely truthful. Surely Stan wouldn’t find anything circumspect in that answer.

But his brother continues to eye him with that speculative look that, to Ford’s apprehension, was slowly morphing into full of doubt.

“Sixer, you know you can tell me anything. What  _ really _ happened?” Stanley presses.

Ford opens his mouth to reply with another well-rehearsed answer that wouldn’t end with Stan pummeling the neighborhood bully, when a sharp pain at the back of his head interrupts him. “Ow!” His hand flies up immediately to cradle the afflicted area, and when Ford turns around, he sees Crampelter and his two patsies, Davis and Bard, laughing uproariously.

“Hey  _ freak _ !” Crampelter bellows. “I see you got your little relay boo-boos all patched up. How did you get Ms. Campbell to touch those things?”

Ford winces, the insult hitting a little close to home as he remembers how the school nurse had him place his hands on a tabletop and used a long pair of tweezers to hold an iodine-soaked cotton ball. She was perfectly professional the entire time, but Ford could remember with crystal clarity how the corner of her lips had pulled back in a sneer when she had to touch his right hand to wrap it with bandages.

“Hey  _ Crampelter _ !” He hears next to him and as Ford reaches out to his brother to bring him back to safety, Stanley is already dodging his grasp to plant himself right between his twin and his aggressor. “How do you get people to look at your ugly mug?”

The patsies stop laughing and Crampelter looks ready to kill. “What was that, loser?” He demands, cracking his knuckles and taking a menacing step closer to Stanley.

Ford grasps at his brother’s arm and pulls urgently. “Stanley, come on. Let’s just get out of here.”

Crampelter snorts loudly. “Yeah, loser. Take your freak brother and go. He already paid his dues today.”

Stanley turns his head to glance at Ford’s bandaged right hand, and then meets Ford’s eyes questioningly. When Ford can only look away in shame, he feels Stanley’s arm get yanked from his grasp.

“Stanley!”

But it was too late. By the time Ford looked back, his brother and Crampelter were in a tangled heap on the grass outside the school, punching and kicking each other savagely. They draw a crowd immediately, kids hooting and hollering and egging the boys on. Stanford calls again for his brother, but when he attempts to get closer, he finds his way blocked by Davis and Bard.

“Two against one isn’t very fair,” Davis says nonchalantly, as though he were talking about the weather.

Bard laughs and shoves Ford away. “Yeah! Two against one isn’t fair!” He echoes, oblivious to the irony.

Ford looks over Davis’s shoulder just in time to see Stanley take one to the chin. “I just want to get my brother and go. C’mon, you’ve gotten your pound of flesh from the two of us today. Just let us go home.”

Davis pretends to think this over for a few seconds before he smirks devilishly. “Naw, I got a better idea.” He grabs Ford’s left arm as Bard grabs his right and they start dragging Ford away from the fight. Ford tries to dig his heels in, but the boys are stronger and they keep up a good pace. “You’re always acting like a damsel in distress, so how ‘bout we treat you like one?”

“What are you talking about?” Ford cries. “Let me go!”

“Yeah! When you’re around your loser brother, you always act like such a girl!” Bard agrees, his teeth bared in a feral grin. “Time to man up!”

“Into the dungeon with you, freak!” Davis crows, and suddenly Ford is lifted and thrown into someplace dark and kind of squishy. He opens his eyes and realizes he’s been tossed into a dumpster. He can smell spoiled milk and rotten food, and who knows what else.

He stands up and reaches for the edge to haul himself out, when the top comes down on his head and Ford falls back on his rear, encased in darkness. He stands as much as he’s able, ignoring the pain in his head, and tries to push the top up and off. But the lid won’t even budge.

“Davis! Bard!” He yells. “C’mon guys, let me out of here!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Davis mocks on the outside of the dumpster. “Damsels have to wait for their knight in shining armor to save them, remember? No bargaining with the dragons!”

“Yeah!” Bard cackles from outside, and Ford finds himself grinding his teeth at the sound.

He slams both hands against the dumpster lid and finds it giving way just a fraction of an inch. The bullies must be holding two sides down. “C’mon, this isn’t funny! The fight will bring a teacher, and  _ then _ what will you do?”

This time he receives no reply, and just as he’s about to slam his palms against the lid again it flies open. Ford squints against the brightness of the sun, and the silhouette in front of him resolves into, “Stanley!” Ford cries, relieved. “You found me!”

Stanley looks worse for wear, his t-shirt torn in places and his nose bleeding, but the triumphant smile underneath the blood is bright. “Of course, Sixer! I can always find ya!” He holds out a hand. “C’mon, let’s blow this pop stand.” Ford takes it with relief, and Stanley hauls him out.

“What happened with Crampelter?” Ford asks, looking around the courtyard. It was completely abandoned and looked like a totally different place from only a few minutes previous when it was full of rowdy kids.

“I kicked his butt is what happened!” Stanley crows, jabbing a proud thumb into his chest. “Also, the janitor showed up and said if Crampelter didn’t stop causing trouble then he’d cause  _ him _ trouble. And then he popped out his glass eye and threw it at him! He’s my new hero!” Stanley imitated popping out an eye and chucking it, cackling with glee. “I wish you’d been able to see him in action!”

Ford pulled at his shirt and gave it a tentative sniff, wincing at the garbage smell that wafted up. “Believe me, I wish I could’ve seen it too if it meant I wouldn’t have gotten tossed in the trash.”

“Why’d they throw you in there, anyway?”

The explanation floats up in his mind and Ford could feel his face heat. “Because they’re jerks, Stanley. Do they really need a reason?” He asks, already making for home, causing his twin to jog to keep up.

“Well, no,” Stan concedes, as he finally catches up to Ford and keeps pace easily. He always was the faster of the two. “But you’re actin’ funny. Even more than when I asked you what happened in gym. So I figure they must’ve done something extra crappy this time.”

Ford sighs and relents. Knowing those goons, it probably won’t be the last time he hears about this. He might as well tell Stanley the truth instead of waiting for him to hear it in the schoolyard. “They said I was acting like a ‘damsel in distress’, because I was trying to get them to let us go home. Then they threw me in the dumpster as a makeshift ‘dungeon’ to wait for you to save me. And you did,” he looks over at Stan and tries to smile, but he can feel the attempt die out rather quickly. “Maybe they were right,” he sighs, kicking a stray pebble and focusing on it rather than his twin.

“I mean…” Stanley trailed off, and Ford looked over at him in curiosity. His brother had turned his face so Ford couldn’t see his expression. “Would that be so bad?”

“Huh?”

“Well, they’re not really  _ wrong _ , yanno?” Stan asks, finally turning around so Ford can see the look of mischief on his brother’s face. “You can be a little…”

“…A little  _ what _ ?” Ford demands, feeling his face heat up anew and attempting to ball his hands into fists but unable to due to the medical tape and bandages covering his palms.

“A little ‘damsel in distress’-y,” Stan chuckles.

Ford huffs and storms ahead. “Not you too!” He cries in betrayal.

“Just a little!” Stan said from behind, as if adding the modifier made the insult any better. “Look,” he says, cutting Ford off figuratively and literally, rounding on his twin. “We both know you could give ‘em a good left hook if you wanted to. You took the same fighting classes I did. But you never use it!”

Ford shuffles his feet and looks down at the ground in thought. It was true that he could defend himself if need be, but he didn’t like the idea of fighting. Sure, he’d roughhouse with Stanley a bit, but that was different. It was  _ fun _ with Stanley, and it wasn’t for real. Not to mention, there was something that felt…good, about letting Stanley take the lead with bullies. He liked the idea that his brother would defend him.

…Oh goodness, he  _ was _ a damsel in distress, wasn’t he?

Ford groans aloud at the realization and Stanley laughs. “So you see it now?”

“Yes,” Ford grits out. “Now are you done humiliating me? I’d like to go home and rebandage these.” He holds up his hands by way of explanation.

“Hey, hey! I’m not humiliating you! I’m just proving a point.” Stanley corrects.

“Fine, then. If you’re done  _ proving a point-” _

“Not just yet,” Stanley interrupts, taking a step closer to Ford so he blocks out the sun behind him. “Damsels get rescued, but they also usually reward their rescuer, right?”

Ford groans. “Oh Moses, Stanley, what do you want now? My dessert? Want me to do your chores for you? What?”

“Well, those all sound nice, but I was thinking of something else.” Suddenly his wrist is grabbed in a firm, gentle grip and Ford finds himself dragged through a nearby hedge behind his brother.

“What the-? Stanley? What’re you doing?” He cries in surprise.

“Shhh! Calm down, wouldja? Jeez, you’d think I was trying to murder ya or somethin’.”

“Can’t blame a guy for being surprised about getting dragged into the bushes,” Ford mutters, rubbing at his hair to get some stray leaves and sticks out. “Now, what’s going on with you?”

Stanley suddenly straightens his stance, and squares his shoulders. He has a determined look on his face that Ford only usually saw when he was about to get into it with their Pa, or when he was in the ring.

Ford gulps. “Stanley?”

“Iwannakiss,” Stanley blurts suddenly, taking Ford by surprise.

“You…you want…From  _ me _ ?” Ford stutters.

“Who else, Sixer, jeez!” Stanley shouts, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away slightly. He kicks at a stray rock and Ford can see a light dusting of red across one cheek.

_ Oh _ .

“W-where?”

“Right  _ here _ ! Jeez, Ford, an’ they call you a genius!”

“No, blockhead! Where do you want me to-to kiss you?” Ford asks, wringing the hem of his shirt between bandaged hands.

“Oh.” Now it’s Stan’s turn to be bashful. He looks down and shrugs his shoulders. “I guess…I mean, in the movies, it’s usually on the cheek, right?”

The cheek. Ford can do that. He edges closer to his brother, who’s still looking at the ground. He leans in.

“And don’t-”

But Ford will never know what Stanley was going to say, because as Stan turns to demand something from him their lips brush. The small touch is like a shock to Ford’s system, and he rears back. Stanley looks shocked too, bringing his fingers up to his lips with wide eyes.

Ford doesn’t know what to do in this situation. It may be one thing to think about kissing his brother, but he’d never actually  _ done _ it!

“I-I-uh…”

They stand there in silence, looking at each other with wide eyes. Just when the shock begins to subside and the silence grows unbearable, Stanley turns his face aside and points at a spot on his cheek.

“How ‘bout here?” He says, looking down at the ground and biting at his lower lip. A nervous habit he’d had since forever.

Ford waits a few seconds, and when it looks like Stanley’s being patient he shuffles over and pecks him gently on the cheek. “There,” he says, offering a light, probably slightly nervous, smile to his brother. “Thank you, Stanley.”

“Yeah, well, you know…” Stan mutters, the hand that had previously pointed at his cheek now covering the place Ford kissed. “I’m always here for you Sixer.”

Ford clears his throat. He’s about to suggest they get out of the bushes and go home, when Stan surprises him again by taking his hands in both of his. “Stanley?”

“Forgot,” he says quickly, and brings Ford’s hands up to his lips. Before Ford can say anything, Stan’s turned them over and placed a light kiss on both palms. He looks up at Ford and says, “a good knight always makes his damsel feel better.”

Ford both groans and laughs at his brother’s antics, and tries to ignore the places on his palms that tingle from the fleeting contact from Stan’s chapped lips. “Can we get off the damsel thing, already? I’m already gonna get enough of it from the bullies at school.”

“Not while I’m around to protect your wimpy butt, you won’t!” Stanley declares, jabbing a thumb into his chest while Ford groans. “C’mon, if I don’t rub it in, what kind of brother would that make me?”

“A  _ good _ one?” Ford tried.

“Pssh. I’m already amazing, Ford, don’t even try,” Stanley says, and Ford laughs at his brazenness. “C’mon,” he says, tugging lightly at Ford’s hand, “let’s go home. Ma’ll be wondering why we’re late.”

“Are we gonna tell her it’s because her son decided to be a big butt to her other son?” Ford teases, and Stanley shoves him out of the bushes, Ford laughing along the way.

“You traitor! It’s because her son was  _ obviously _ being all knightly and saving her other son’s butt!”

“You wanted to save my butt?” Ford laughs, and cants his hip into his brother’s. “Want a kiss from my butt too?”

Stanley goes red immediately. “You’re a butt!” He declares, and chases Ford the rest of the way home, Ford laughing and his palms and lips tingling all the way.


End file.
